


Hungry Hungry and Hippo

by starvingsnout



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mistaken Identity, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvingsnout/pseuds/starvingsnout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two horny bottoms Harry and Zayn get an escort, Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Old stuff from my tumblr that I need to finish. You probably need to suspend your disbelief a little with this one.

The front door banged shut and Zayn jolted awake, peering dizzily through the open door of his bedroom into the hallway which all people entering the flat had to use. He waited until he could see Harry to demand, “Did you get my cigs?”

 

Harry’s lanky body slumped against the door frame and he took his time squinting into the darkness that was Zayn’s room. “Made me feel dirty, asking for them. I had to compensate by grabbing four kilos of apples and tangerines.” He sauntered forward and Zayn noticed his long arms were taut with the weight of two carrier bags.

 

"No, don’t," he whined but in vain. Harry had already dumped the bags on his prone body, one on his lower bag and the other between his thighs. "I hate you. Gimme my cigs."

 

"Sorry, left them in my jacket." Harry flicked the lights on and draped himself over Zayn’s computer chair like a toddler into one of those baby proof swings by inserting his legs under the arm rests.

 

"You’re gonna get stuck again," Zayn muttered, face down on his pillow. His laptop was still on the bed, on sleep mode. He must have dozed off in the middle of the porno. There’d been a big hairy dude massaging an equally hairy big dude. Zayn was on the fence about whether he was actually into it, but the cocks were huge. Bigger than any he’d ever had.

 

"They see me rollin’," Harry droned, propelling himself forward with two feet, still a toddler but now on a ride-on toy lawnmower.

 

Zayn gave him a hateful glare. “Why am I rooming with you? The only pros of having you are you doing the laundry and the hot old men you bring to the apartment. And you haven’t brought anyone in in ages.”

 

"What can I do? Cal is wintering in Monaco and Ben decided to work on his marriage. I could ring up Harold Tillman for you?"

 

Zayn ignored the stupid smirk on his face and moaned, “I need cock in me now.”

 

Harry slipped his horny face on. “I love it when you talk filthy. I could fuck you?”

 

"Yeah, no."

 

"Why not? I’ve been thinking I could try just topping for a while."

 

Zayn slowly swiveled his head to unleash the full extent of his disbelief on Harry with some dramatic flare. “When was the last time you dipped your dick in someone?”

 

"Last week when I fucked you."

 

"Doesn’t count."

 

"Oh? I don’t see why not. Also, Cara wanted to try doing it with a gay man so I did her too, just the other day. Got soft almost immediately, though. I think it was the breasts. Would've been fine if not for the breasts." A vacant expression settled on his face.

 

An incredulous snort was all Zayn had to offer to that. “Please refrain from sharing any more stories of your sexual conquests. You’re not doing me. I’m gonna find someone on Grindr.”

 

Harry came to a halt on his ride and sidled up closer. A grim, laborious little line appeared on his forehead. “Zayn, you know it’s dangerous to find hook-ups on Grindr. Just ring up someone you know.”

 

"I’m tired of everyone I know." Zayn reached for his phone on the night stand, but was deterred by Harry slapping his hand away. "Harry," he said testily.

 

"If you want to hook up with a random dude, get an escort."

 

"Jesus, Harry, I’m not gonna pay for sex. Stop acting like my mum and gimme the phone. Everyone, and I really mean everyone, uses Grindr, there's nothing creepy about it." Instead of returning the phone Harry stuffed it in his back pocket, wrangled himself out of the chair, and sat on Zayn’s back to add on the burden already inflicted on it by the bag of oranges. "Get off! I’m not having sex with you."

 

Harry rested his chin on Zayn’s head. “Shush. Let’s look for those escorts.” He booted up the laptop and typed in Zayn’s password.

 

"What the- How the hell do you know my password?"

 

"I’ve seen you type it a million times," Harry informed him distractedly, scrolling through the list of programs on the computer. The frowny line on his forehead was back. "You don’t have Internet Explorer."

 

"No shit," Zayn deadpanned. "I use Opera." He guided Harry’s hand to the right icon and watched letters appear on the search engine bar with all the speed of a senior citizen; Harry was a hunt and peck typer. G-a-y m-a-l-e e-s-c-o- “‘m pretty sure the ‘male’ is redundant. Never heard of lesbian escorts."

 

"It’s better not to assume," Harry said seriously, added the ‘r’ and ‘t’ and l-o-n-d-o-n, and pressed enter.

 

"This is fucking stupid. There’s just no fucking way I’m paying for sex. Who even knows what they charge? All their clients are ugly losers who’d give anything to suck a prick. It’s a seller’s market. Maybe in a slightly less severe scale than in the straight scene, but-" Zayn lost his train of thought. Harry had clicked the first click that popped up and fumbled around the website with his amateurish ways, and now a neat row of shirtless selfies stretched over the screen. "These- are all from London?"

 

Harry coughed and shifted on Zayn’s back. “Yup. All of them.”

 

They maintained an awed silence as they scrolled down the page, pausing to ogle when a particularly nice sample of an arse, abs, or bulge catches their eye. When they reached the bottom Harry was sporting a semi and Zayn wasn’t doing much better. They were like hungry gulls eyeing a juicy piece of rotting whale on the beach. Zayn wet his mouth. “How much?” He had his eyes on this one guy in particular - brown hair cropped short, angular face, _fucking six foot six_ , thick arms, tight abs. His name was Niall, and he was Irish. The smile on his face in the profile pic was slanted, rakish. Like he was just in it for the laughs but would fuck you up anyway just because.

 

Harry started clicking around on the site. “Um, it says here that you settle the price with the guy when you contact him but that haggling is generally pointless.” He opened a second tab and searched ‘escort prizes’. “Let’s see. Varies a lot, but generally can be up to… 500 quid an hour.”

 

Zayn’s lust for Niall diminished a little as cold reason rudely barged in. Five hundred was roughly the amount he spent on groceries per month. “What? That’s preposterous.”

 

"You said it yourself, it’s a seller’s market," Harry mumbled in Zayn’s hair, probably coating it with drool. "I can see why someone might be willing to cough that up for these guys, though."

 

Zayn didn’t answer. He was busy staring into Niall’s warm, inviting eyes and talking himself out of what he was about to do. It was hopeless. He was already too invested in the fantasy. Fuck eating anyway. It wasn’t like he could get much skinnier. “Harry, gimme my phone.”

 

"You’re still not getting on Grindr," Harry said with his determined, bossy voice. "I will wrestle with you on it if I have to."

 

"I’m not going on Grindr. I’m ringing this guy. Niall."

 

"For real? How’re you going to pay for it?"

 

The question didn’t seem to be of particular concern to Harry since he was already wiggling his bum to yank out the phone from his pocket. It felt warm under Zayn’s fingers. “Ugh, your arse sweat is all over it.”

 

"Seriously, how’re you gonna pay for it?" Harry prompted.

 

"I’ll have to become an escort too, I guess. I’m sure there’s some old perv somewhere that wants some twink arse." He slotted in the final number and pressed the phone against his ear. "Here we go."

 

"Oh god, I can’t believe this is happening," Harry squeaked and wedged his chin between Zayn’s head and shoulder to listen in on the conversation.

 

"Hello, this is Niall," a warm, distinctly Irish voice answered almost immediately.

 

A little taken aback, Zayn stuttered, “Hi- I’m looking for- you. I mean, you’re on the escort site XXX.” Harry sniggered behind his head.

 

"That’s right. You have rang my work phone. Are you looking for company?"

 

"Uh. I wanted to enquire about your rates?"

 

"Incalls 200, outcalls 250, overnight 500. Additional fees for extreme fetishes," Niall listed smoothly.

 

"Right. Is an incall generally, like, an hour or-?"

 

"Yes, that’s right."

 

Harry pushed forward. “Can you do both of us? And could we get a discount if it’s at the same time?” He sounded breathy, like he was already half there.

 

Zayn shoved his face back and mouthed ‘creeper’. “Um, sorry about that. My friend is with me.”

 

"And you would like to share?" Niall sounded amused.

 

"I guess," Zayn sighed. "I don’t think I can get rid of him. When, uh, could you come? I mean, is tonight possible?"

 

"I’m available, yes. What sort of services specifically would you like?"

 

"We want to get fucked," Harry announced enthusiastically. So much for ‘just topping for a while’. "No fetishes other than the threesome."

 

"Alright," Niall laughed. Zayn couldn’t tell if it was faked. It wasn’t of the overt, husky kind you might expect from an escort. But what did Zayn know? "I might be able to give you a little discount, twenty quid a person, if you both fit into the hour. How’s that?"

 

"Sounds great," Harry enthused before Zayn could as much as open his mouth. "Come at 11. We need to shower first."

 

"Excellent. Text me the address and I’ll see you shortly."

 

Harry wound his arms around Zayn’s shoulders to tap the address into the phone as soon as Niall hung up. Zayn allowed him to take the phone without much protest but doubts were already forming in his mind. Two hundred for a shag? If their friends ever found out they wouldn’t hear the end of it. Was this really happening? Maybe Harry had never even come home and Zayn was in actual fact still asleep.

 

"There, all sent. Wanna shower together? I feel like this is going to be a great bonding experience for us," Harry mused wistfully.

 

"Really? ‘coz I’m regretting this already."


	2. Chapter 2

In the shower Harry babbled on incessantly as Zayn stood behind him to wash his hair. “I feel like we could become like Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn in that movie where they both fall for that scientist? Who like invents a youth potion. And at first they like fight each other because they both want him, but eventually they understand it’s unnecessary, and they decide to live all three of them together.”

 

"I’m pretty sure the man throws him down a staircase ‘coz he’s sick of them at the end," Zayn corrected absently. He didn’t mind Harry’s seemingly limitless ability to crawl up and down the hills of storyland, mainly because he knew it was mostly a natural tendency turned into an exaggerated cartoon version of itself after Harry’d realised how much teasing and attention it brought his way. Harry couldn’t help himself, and Zayn had decided early on not to hold that against him.

 

"Oh? I don’t remember that part." Harry was quiet for a moment, drawing patterns with the condensed droplets on the shower wall, and then started with a completely different tone of voice, subdued. "Zayn…. I’m sorry I’m not the man you want."

 

Zayn blinked and pressed his nose tight against Harry’s warm, wet shoulder blades. “You _are_ the man I want. Like, eighty percent of the time. The rest of my time I’m dedicating to all the big cocks in the world until I’m old and ugly and no one wants me, yeah?”

 

"I’ll always want you. I’ll shag you even when you’re old and wrinkly."

 

"I know. It’s common knowledge you’ve gone to town on Mr Tillman at least once."

 

Harry whipped around so fast Zayn was given no time to dodge the five pounds of wet hair hitting his face. “I have not! Who’s saying that? It’s all lies and slander! I gave him a back massage once because he was in pain and I felt sorry for him, but I never touched his prick!”

 

Zayn backed off on the slippery floor of the cubicle in a defensive stance, sniggering even as he held his stinging eyes. “Was it- was it a nude massage?” he gasped.

 

"How dare you make it dirty!" Harry huffed though a dirty smirk was already tugging at the side of his lips. "He did make this really funny noise though. Kind of like this." He tensed his neck and puffed his cheeks in preparation, but Zayn was already firmly covering his mouth.

 

"I don’ wanna hear it! Some things are meant to stay in the bedroom."

 

"It wasn’t even in a bedroom. We were out by the pool-" Harry sputtered through Zayn’s fingers but had to stop to gag when one of them slipped in his mouth.

 

Their squabbling was interrupted by the intercom sounding out in the entryway of their apartment. Out of breath, Zayn stepped out of the shower cubicle to check on his watch he’d left by the sink. “Is that him already? He’s over half an hour early.” He ran his hand through his hair, itching to style it before answering, but Harry was already strutting into the hallway with soggy wet hair and a loosely tied towel around his hips. “Harry, wait for me.” He grabbed a fluffy bathrobe and shrugged it on as he hurried after his friend.

 

"Hello? Your name, please," Harry chirped into the face of the intercom in the entryway, Zayn pressing up close against his back.

 

There was a pause and then a man’s voice rattled from the intercom with a clear Irish accent. “My name was it? I’m Niall. I’m t-“

 

"Really early," Zayn huffed loudly behind him.

 

Oddly, the man laughed, like he was all pleased about it. “Thanks! I get that a lot, actually.”

 

"We were still in the shower," Zayn said evenly, unamused.

 

"Oh, sorry about that. I probably should have warned you." Niall didn’t sound very sorry. "Can I come up now? This is my last one for the day, ‘d like to be home by midnight."

 

Harry and Zayn exchanged looks. “I thought escorts are all about pleasing their clients,” Harry said with a lowered voice, clearly put out.

 

Zayn shrugged at him. “Yeah, come on up,” he said into the intercom. Second floor, number 34.” He let go of the buzzer and slapped Harry on the arm to gain access to the full-body mirror on the wall by the coat rack to fix what he could of his hair. He was rapidly transitioning back from miffed to painfully horny. Niall had looked so toe-curlingly hot in that profile pic.

 

"Oh, there he comes already," Harry reported, glued to the peephole. "No, wait. That can’t be him. He’s kind of…." He backed off as the doorbell rang.

 

"What’re ya waiting for? Open it," Zayn prompted him.

 

Harry gave him an odd look and then did as told, letting the door swing slowly open on its own. A man was stood in the corridor, but not the least bit of the appearance that Zayn had expected. He was short, dressed in an ugly, brightly coloured uniform and snapback that both said Paul’s Pizza on them, and very pale. His hair, mostly stuffed under the snapback, was straw yellow. He was good-looking in that basic, frat boy kind of way, and chewing gum with his mouth open. On his chest there was a metal plate with “NIALL” on it with thick black lettering and carelessly propped under his right arm there was an actual pizza box.

 

They stared at the sight apprehensively while the guy chewed, eyeing them back. Then Harry coughed. “What’s with the er… outfit?”

 

The guy, Niall, blinked and glanced down the red and white stripes of his uniform. He took his time answering. “This is what we always wear?”

 

"It’s not a bad idea, really. Gets you into buildings discretely," Harry said slowly, eyeing Zayn carefully from the corner of his eye as if expecting him to explode on the spot.

 

Which was more or less what Zayn did. Snapping out of his shocked silence, he mercilessly pushed Harry out of the way so he could shove himself in Niall’s face. “Yeah, whatever, I don’t give a fuck about what you’re wearing. The bigger question here is why the fuck are you blond and the size of a pre-schooler? Like, what happened to six foot six, huh? You’re shorter than me! Fucking hell, have you ever been to the gym?” He poked the man in his stomach. “What is this, _flab_?”

 

Niall scanned Zayn from his bare feet to the towel around his hips to his scowling face, obviously taken aback. His jaws had stopped working the gum. “Um, excuse me? That’s a bit uncalled for. I mean, I am actually a brunet, though. I just dye my hair blond.”

 

"Oh, yeah? What about your height, then? That’s not you at all on the website, is it?"

 

"What? I didn’t know the company lists our heights on-line. Shit, I didn’t even know they have our pictures there." Niall laughed incredulously. He didn’t seem much perturbed by Zayn’s interrogation.

 

Zayn sneered at him. “How could you possibly not know that?” He tensed at Harry’s giant spider hands coiling around the square of his shoulders, preparing for the inanity about to be spewed in his ear.

 

"Chill out, Zayn. He’s really cute, isn’t he?" Harry whispered. Zayn could just about hear the horny on his face. "So what if he’s a tad on the shorter side? It doesn’t matter once we get horizontal."

 

"He looks nothing like the dude in that pic, Harry. We’re essentially being scammed here." Why was Harry always gluing himself to people's backs? Did he think personal bubbles evaporated if you were sneaky enough about it? Zayn personally didn’t mind it except when he was trying chat someone up in a club (Harry was dead last on his list of favoured wingmen for a reason) or when he was trying to have a serious conversation. Like the one currently taking place.

 

"But he’s giving us a discount. And it was on such short notice, too. He could be great in bed? And you said that any cock would do." While Harry talked he massaged the base of Zayn’s neck gently. It was such an obvious persuasion tactic that Zayn couldn’t help but be endeared.

 

"Ugh. Fine. But you owe me. In fact, I want Cal here next weekend. Make him fly over, I don’t care how."

 

"I will." Harry kissed him behind the ear and then turned to Niall again. "The deal is on. You fuck us both, bj’s may be included, no funny fetishes. Come, let’s take this into the kitchen first." He clapped his hands together and stepped forward to politely pull the pizza box out of Niall’s slack hands.

 

Niall didn’t move a muscle. “What, for real? You want me to- For real?” He pushed the snapback back on his head to get a better view of them.

 

His obvious shock made Zayn feel a little better - at least the guy hadn’t expected his deception to just fly with them. “Yeah, you’re lucky Harry’s such a nice person and I’m so horny. Get in.”

 

Niall glanced down the corridor in both directions as if expecting someone to jump out and tell him it was all a big joke and then finally shuffled in, toeing off his white high-tops by the door. Harry took him under a protective, naked arm and led them to the right towards the kitchen.

 

Zayn stayed behind for a moment to get one final look at the state of his hair in the mirror and then hurried after them, suddenly suspicious Harry was trying to get some action first despite Zayn totally having called dibs on Niall, but nothing of the sort was happening. The pizza box was open on the table and Harry was ogling at it with what was possibly the dumbest, most caricaturishly slack-jawed expression Zayn had ever witnessed on anyone’s face ever. “Zayn, the pizza is real!” He stuck a finger in the cheese and raised it on his lips to slurp on it. “Maybe we should eat first.”

 

"This isn’t a dinner party, Harry. Give me that." Zayn snatched the pizza box and closed the lid but not before taking a little whiff of it himself. As ugly as the uniform was, the whole escort with pizza on the side was actually a cool business model.

 

Niall was stood to the side, eyeing them both with wariness that seemed a little inappropriate and not very conducive to creating a sexy atmosphere. How long was he going to drag on this clueless pizza boy gimmick? “So, Niall. Better get down to business, right?” Zayn said to him a little coldly; he couldn’t help but still feel resentful over all the audacious lies they’d been fed on the website. And his hair was still wet and nasty.

 

"You really wanna do this? Fuck a random stranger?" Niall asked cautiously, pushed back his cap to scratch and flatten his hair before pulling it back down in one smooth, practised move. The way he pronounced ‘fuck’ it sounded more like ‘feck’.

 

Zayn bristled. “That’s fat coming from someone in your profession.”

 

Harry shot a genuinely reproachful glare in his direction and then swaggered to Niall, a complete 180 from his usual clumsy ditz act. Zayn watched him press against Niall in that enviably confident, suave way of his he employed when someone was playing hard to get. Spoiler alert, they never did for long. Niall too melted in about fifteen seconds and spread his palms on Harry’s waist to pull him closer. Harry smirked in the kiss. _Why can’t he be like that all the time?_ flashed in Zayn’s mind before he could smother the thought, and he shifted guiltily where he was stood. They couldn’t change who they were, neither of them, and what they had was good; Harry was the closest Zayn had ever come to being in love. “Just a friendly reminder: I’m getting fucked first,” he eventually grunted when Niall and Harry’s snogging session dragged on.

 

Harry let Niall’s lips go with a slurpy pop and whined, “But what do I do in the meanwhile? What if you milk him dry and he can’t get it up for me anymore?”

 

"Not my problem," Zayn dismissed him impatiently and fixed Niall with an expectant look. "Can we, like, get in the bedroom now? The clock is ticking."

 

Harry ignored him completely and put his arm comfortingly around the escort’s shoulders. It made Niall look tiny. “Don’t mind Zayn. He’s like that grumpy cat they have on the Internet,” he explained with a smarmy smile. “He may look permanently homicidal, but it’s really just the way his face is stuck. Inside he’s a fluffy little kitten.”

 

"It’s the way my face is stuck when I’m around you," Zayn sighed. "Should we pay now?" he asked Niall, aiming for a civil tone this time. As much as he liked to rag on Harry for his ‘prince Harry’ moves, he was aware there was room for improvement in his manners.

 

"No, it-" Niall paused to clear his voice. His pale face and neck had taken on a vaguely ruddy colour. "It’s fine, you can do it afterwards."

 

"What, really?" Harry said in surprise, echoing Zayn’s thoughts. "What if we just kick you out without paying when we’re done?"

 

Niall laughed affably. His teeth were very white and laughing gave him an air of relaxed confidence that made Zayn decide he wasn’t _that_ upset about losing his roguish Irish giant. “Are you goin’ to do that, then?”

 

"Nah, we’re good people," Harry told him with a wide, sincere smile.

 

"Yeah, yeah, good decent peeps. Now that’s that settled…" Zayn strode through the kitchen to start forcibly shooing them both towards the hallway and Harry’s bedroom at the end of it. Harry spent very little time in his room (he even slept in Zayn’s bed when he spent the night home) so his bedroom was the one room in the apartment likely to be more or less spotless.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry’s room was a little dusty and full of useless junk (a bloody bagpipe lay abandoned on top of the dresser - Zayn thanked God at unknowingly dodging the unrealised hours of torture it represented) but his bed was queen sized and once the garishly yellow quilt serving as bedspread was shucked off it looked perfectly inviting. Zayn hovered pointedly behind Niall, wordlessly directing him to the bed and the man seemed to get the message since he threw his snapback on the floor and started fiddling his belt open.

 

Harry stayed slightly behind, trailing by the opposite wall, palms pressed together and brows drawn tightly together as if in deep anguish, but Zayn refused to pay him any attention, instead focusing on the pale pink of Niall’s revealed back once his shirt came off. He wondered if the lovely man in the profile pic had skin like that too. If he did, it was the only thing he and this Niall had in common, looks-wise at least. Zayn couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept with someone smaller than himself. Often-times it was his sole criterion when looking for potential hook-ups. Even Harry, who rarely managed to muster forth the kind of aggression Zayn demanded in bed, was occasionally permitted access in his bed on the virtue of being bigger than him.

 

"Like what you see?" Niall asked, almost cocky, as he bent down to slide off his boxers. Zayn steeled his jaw, waiting until Niall was standing straight again so he could see his prick. "C’mon, what’s the verdict?" the Irishman prompted, hands on his hips.

 

Zayn squinted critically at the sturdy piece of pale flesh jutting out of Niall’s hips. Not too shabby, he decided. Length decent, girth pleasing, pubic hair nonexistent (or perhaps just too light to be seen?), all of it seemingly clean and recently washed. “It’ll do,” he conceded.

 

"Thank your majesty most humbly." Niall raised his hand in salute and then threw his head back as he laughed raucously. There was something forced about it, the way he held his body. Like he was displaying an immoderate amount of confidence in himself.

 

"This isn’t…like, your first time doing this or anything, right?" Zayn asked suspiciously.

 

"Oh no," Niall denied quickly. "Done it loads of times. Not with two people, though." He dragged his fingers through his matted hair, a little nervously.

 

Zayn nodded and pointedly rested his hands on Niall’s bare shoulders, eager to move things along. Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure how to go about having sex with someone of his own size. He was more accustomed to straining biceps and bulging abdomens or at the very at least a man capable of moving around all his 140 pounds with ease. Niall didn’t look he had the muscle power required to exactly slam Zayn about but surely he’d gathered he was expected to take charge of the situation? As in, not just stand there and ogle at Zayn’s face?

 

"You’re really pretty," Niall murmured gruffly just when Zayn was about to lean in and take matters into his own hands.

 

"Erm, yeah, thanks." To his frustration Zayn felt his cheeks actually growing hot. "Could you- just?" He pulled at Niall’s shoulders and shuddered pleasantly when the shorter man quickly complied and wrapped his arms securely around Zayn’s waist. They kissed slowly and it felt foreign. Awkward, like on a first date. Zayn didn’t know where to put his hands and in a sudden bout of anxiety he wondered if that was the reason behind his preferred type of partners. That maybe he went for the aggressive cave men mainly so he was spared the horror of making first moves.

 

"Are your clients usually super ugly?" Harry suddenly piped up from his perch on the run-down Georgian dresser he’d hauled from gods knew where. He’d stripped off his towel and was sat naked on the chipped wood, thighs shamelessly parted, like a cupid in some raunchy Renaissance painting.

 

Zayn glared at him even if he was a little bit thankful for the interruption. Niall, on the other hand, seemed to not have heard the question. He was breathing harshly against Zayn’s neck and gripping his waist much lower than before so that their lower bodies were pressed together. It was hot but too gentle somehow, the way Niall held him and kissed the side of his neck. This wasn’t the way Zayn had sex, not even with Harry. He didn’t consider himself a damaged person but he was self-aware enough to recognize he had his share of intimacy issues.

 

"You can totally be rougher than that with Zayn," Harry spoke up again, casually, and padded over to glue himself to Niall’s back. His arms circled them both and tightened, squishing all three of them together. Niall made a surprised choking noise and stumbled a little between them but Harry only smiled and craned his neck to slobber an open-mouthed kiss on Zayn’s lips. Then he frog-marched them backwards until the edge of the bed hit the backs of Zayn’s knees and he plopped down on the mattress.

 

Niall turned around then and just like that his cock was in Zayn’s face. He hadn’t felt much of it before through the thickness of the bath robe and the sight of it immediately cheered him up - now this he knew how to handle. Heavy hands - Harry’s, he was quite sure - curled around the back of his neck but he didn’t really need the encouragement. Eagerly, he pushed his mouth against the exposed underside and pressed his tongue and nose flat against it. Niall groaned and Zayn felt a second pair of hands on him, these amidst his damp hair - it was delicious. He licked all the way up to the tip and slurped it inside his mouth. He was clutching Niall’s thighs as he did it and flushed with satisfation when they trembled under his hold.

 

"Take it in deep," Harry’s rougher than usual voice mumbled into Niall’s neck and the hands on Zayn’s neck pulled him forcefully forward and down. Zayn let himself be pushed, grateful again for Harry’s interference as Niall seemed to be experiencing a state of shock of some kind, puffing and huffing unintelligible noises and curses under his breath. The head of the cock nudged the back of Zayn’s mouth, nestling into the soft palate, and he swallowed around it, frowning intently as he fought to keep his gag reflex at bay. He’d had cocks far bigger than this down his throat so he managed it quite well, sinking further down with every exhale until the tip of his nose was tickled by Niall’s slightly curly pubic hair. He stayed for a few heartbeats, blood rushing wildly in his ears, and then inched all the way up before going down once more. His throat was burning and felt so full he thought he could barely breathe but his cock was hard as a rock. He moaned helplessly when one of the steady hands holding him down gripped his jaw instead, guiding his movements.

 

Eventually, though, the burning sensation got too unpleasant to ignore and his throat kept constricting so he pulled back up, letting the now slick cock pop out of his mouth. Air rushed back into his lungs and he kept swallowing to dispel the dry tightness in his pharynx.

 

"That was fucking hot," Niall rasped, as if he’d been the one deep-throating a cock just now.

 

"Yeah," Harry agreed enthusiastically, equally breathless above Niall’s shoulder. "Almost like my cock was getting sucked.”

 

Zayn swallowed a few more times, shooing the hands still on his head away. “Get on me,” he breathed and stretched himself on his back on the bed, fumbling the belt of his bath robe open. His fingers were still trembling a little when he spread the robe open, watching Niall gawk at his naked body with drowsy, heavy-lidded eyes, well aware of the effect he had on people.

 

Niall climbed on the bed immediately, like a drunken bear (it made sense in Zayn’s head), blue eyes trained intently on Zayn’s face as he settled above him on his hands and knees. Zayn reached languidly up to fiddle with his biceps, wordlessly begging to be devoured by tilting his head back and baring his throat. The moment was broken by the blissfully forgotten Harry, who slumped heavily down on Niall’s back to rumble down at Zayn, “I wanna be involved too.”

 

Niall’s arms shook as Harry made absolutely no effort to carry his own weight, and Zayn bit down hard on his lip in frustration. Just when it was getting good! “How d’you wanna do this then?” he asked. “And get off him, you’re gonna squash us both to death.”

 

Harry clambered obediently off the bed and tugged Niall with him as well. “I’ll lie down on my back, you get on top of me on your belly, and then Niall can fuck you,” he explained matter-of-factly, as if it was the only sensible solution.

 

"And how’re you expecting to get off in that position?" Zayn enquired blankly, not moving a muscle. Niall was still eyeing him up and down like he was made of candy. His cock didn’t seem to have gotten any softer either.

 

Harry waved the question off. “Don’t you worry, I’ll find a way. What say you? Niall?”

 

The Irishman shrugged quickly, not even giving it a thought. “Don’ care.”

 

"Zayn?"

 

Zayn sighed. “Eh. Whatever.” He rolled into a sitting position, feeling momentarily light-headed, and then stood up to shrug off the bathrobe and lay it aside. Harry wasted no time dropping in the same exact spot on the bed, wriggling a little as he got comfortable. His hair was still soggy and somehow even his body retained that aftershower flush. It reminded Zayn they hadn’t had time to go through their moisturizing routine (as implemented by Zayn when they first moved in together) - a thought he determinedly pushed aside so as not to ruin his mood. He’d always been obsessive about things, but shacking up with and observing Harry in his natural environment had shown how detrimental and often pointless this behaviour was: Harry was a worrier too but he was also a master of pushing aside his worries and never seemed much worse off for it.

 

"C’mere," Harry beckoned him, reaching towards Zayn with both arms.

 

Zayn complied, mounting his friend’s supine body a little clumsily, Harry’s hard cock getting trapped under his bum as he sat down. “Sorry,” he mumbled as Harry whined deep in his throat.

 

"No, don’t get up." Harry pressed down on his thighs. "Feels amazing. Just sit right there."

 

Zayn squeezed his face affectionately and then looked over his shoulder at Niall. “Did you, like, bring lube and condoms with you?”

 

The Irishman blinked. “Uh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t.”

 

"There’s some at the top drawer of the night stand," Harry promptly informed him before Zayn could wonder aloud how the hell an escort didn’t carry condoms on his person.

 

"Yeah, found them." Niall sidled up back to them and there were rubbery noises of a condom wrapper being ripped open.

 

"Just put lots of lube, I don’t need prep," Zayn said breathlessly as he felt Niall’s hand grazing his spine.

 

"No, I wanna finger you," Harry protested under him. He gripped Zayn’s arse cheeks and nudged him so he fell forward a little. "Niall, do you mind squirting some lube on my fingers?"

 

Zayn closed his eyes and settled down on his elbows when he felt Harry’s long fingers, cool and slick, burying into him. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured against Harry’s collarbone, biting down on it when it got really good.

 

"Rubbish, I love it," Harry said, voice sluggish and deep. Then his eyes went wide.

 

Zayn let go of the clavicle and moved downwards to kiss on one of Harry’s nipples instead, carefully. “What?”

 

"Ah, Niall…" Harry shuddered and then laughed breathily. "I’m getting fingered, too." He raises his feet to rest on the edge of the bed, wide apart, so that Zayn was forced to crawl upwards. They were face to face now and locked eyes, smiling at each other even as they gasped with pleasure.

 

"Hey, I don’ want to get in the way of anything, lads, but I honestly think I’m gettin’ blue balls here," Niall spoke up eventually, clearly impatient.

 

"Oh, yeah. Like, go ahead," Zayn assented immediately and slapped Harry’s arm impatiently. "Take your fingers out."

 

"Actually. Can I uh- try something?" Niall asked after a moment of hesitation. He waited for them to hum their agreements and fumbled with something on the floor for a while. Then he leaned over them. "I’m sorry, I just think it’d be super hot, like this…" Zayn watched with surprise at Niall’s fist pressing down on the bed clutching his bathrobe belt. "If you could lift up?" They did their best to arch up and create room under Harry, and Niall stuffed the other end of the belt through as fast as he could. Once they’d settled back down he tied the belt into a half knot that squished them tight into each other, making them light-headed as it cinched their waistlines. The fuzz of the terry cloth had enough friction and texture to keep its grip on them and it felt thick and bulky in a comfortable, secure kind of way.

 

"Ah, I’m- I’m going to die." Harry flung his head back dramatically and squeezed his eyes shut. "My dick is dying. In a good way. But also in a dreadful, horrid, _horrid_ way. Either way, I’m going to die.”

 

"You think I’m much better?" Zayn grunted, trying his hardest to wiggle into a better position but in vain.

 

“ _Stop_ ,” Harry howled pathetically, stretching the ‘o’ into a whine. He whined some more when Zayn kneed - or kneaded, more like - him inside his thigh.

 

"It’s like a weird comedy that’s turning me on like crazy at the same time," Niall chuckled, aborting the beginnings of a stunted wrestling match. He grabbed Zayn’s hips and pressed them against his groin. "I’ve got this, you guys just relax."


	4. Chapter 4

Niall pressed in firmly, with shudders and groans, and Zayn rested his forehead against Harry's, ignoring the stupid kissy faces his friend was making. Niall's cock was smooth and hard and while it had failed to live up to Zayn's initial expectations as far as length was concerned, Zayn's arse still felt lusciously clogged with the thickness of it when Niall bottomed out.

 

"All good?"

 

"No," Harry bawled immediately, eyes watery.

 

"Shush, you crybaby," Zayn murmured into his mouth and coaxed him into a deep kiss while Niall eased out and back in again. A variety of noises from gravelly groans to wheezy keening came out of the back of his throat with every roll and stutter of hips; Niall was doing most of the work but Harry was twisting about so forcibly that for Zayn, tightly bound to him, it was like being wrecked by two people at once. With every inhale, every time his ribcage tried to expand, it was met with Harry's, and his breath hitched and stuttered. It was intimate in a way that had it been anyone but Harry fastened to him Zayn would've had recoiled. Harry had a sick body, a torso of thick muscle, which Zayn had never thought of enjoying like this, strapped to his own, skinnier frame, despite all his efforts in the territory. For example, one of his favourite pastimes on chill weekend mornings was wasting away in the tub, Harry nestled between his thighs while Zayn idly fondled his abs in the soapy water. He also loved lying under Harry when he was doing his push-ups although the opportunity rarely presented itself since Harry most his working out at the gym where that sort of things was frowned upon.

 

Niall had rather overdone it with the lube; it burbled out of Zayn's arse in fat little globs and ran thickly down his thighs and Harry's with every new thrust, like sap out of a tree trunk. The accompanying soggy noises were borderline comical but also hot in a nasty, carnal sort of way, just like the rhythmic slapping of Niall's hips and balls against his buttocks.

 

The Irishman rammed back in over and over, hands tight on Zayn's hips while Harry held his arse cheeks in his ample palms as firmly as he could with how slippery they'd gotten, letting out a choking sound every time his cock was squished some more and squeezed out more pre-cum. Thinking of giving him a breather, Zayn pushed himself up on his arms but a surprised gasp tore out instead: the new position had lined up their cocks in an unexpectedly delicious way as well as squished Niall's cock against his prostate in an all new angle. A few more desperate, shallow thrusting movements and then he was finally coming, deliriously.

 

It was a funny kind of orgasm. One that rather than shot was squeezed out him, like toothpaste, leaving him sobbing with the force of each wave until the edges of his vision blacked out a little and he lost all control of his muscles, slumping against Harry's convulsing form with a helpless little moan. Faintly, he could hear a series of grunting and cursing and felt Niall's hips bucking into him one last time. After that there was complete darkness that gradually faded as the pressure around his waist did and he was helped out on his back. Blinking slowly, he watched Niall's sweaty form crowd over Harry's supine body and tug his heavy cock, fast and brutal, which Harry of course loved.

 

Once they were done with it, the final echo of Harry's howling muted, Niall lied down on the bed between them, and not another word was said for a good five minutes. Zayn would have gone for his cigs, but his bones had turned into butter. He lifted his head as little as he could to peer down his body, legs parted in an awkward stance to inspect the soggy mess on his thighs. "Oh man, 'm gonna be shitting lube for hours. Did you, like, use the entire bottle, man?"

 

Niall only laughed, not moving a muscle.

 

Then the intercom buzzed, twice. "Who the fuck?" Zayn grunted bonelessly and prompted Harry with the back of his palm to go investigate when the buzzer went off again a few seconds later. Harry went willingly, all but skipping in a display of truly amazing recuperation capacity. His return a moment later was the very opposite in spirit, however, hands clasped together in front of him as he stood in the doorway like a fledgling warrior upon entering a dragon's den.

 

"Well, who is it?"

 

"Niall the escort."

 

Zayn blinked, uncomprehending.

 

"It's the funniest thing, really," Harry continued, under his breath like he was talking to himself. "Spectacular coincidence. Same accent, same name, who'd have thought?" He puffed his cheeks, fiddled with his fingers, and blew out breath between loose, flapping lips like a horse all the while Niall and Zayn stared at him in various stages of impatience.

 

The doorbell rang before any interrogation could occur, however, and Harry bolted to the door, still in the nude. Zayn, his brain still failing and/or refusing to compute any of the words Harry had uttered, followed as swiftly as he could with his drowsy limbs pausing only to snatch the forgotten bath robe off the floor - there was no situation stressful or distracting enough in the world for Zayn to stop caring about his dignity.

 

Harry had ushered in a man, a stranger, currently with his back turned to Zayn as he was crouched over Harry's suddenly diminished form to talk in hushed voices, but Zayn didn't need to see his face to recognize the Irish Giant of his short-lived fantasies. "Who's this?" he asked anyway, to announce his presence and promptly flushed from head to toe when Mr Six Feet Five Inches, clad in well-fitted dark jeans and a band tee, straightened and gave him vertigo with his sharp hazel eyes, chiselled jawline and obscenely bulging biceps.

 

"Zayn, right? I'm Niall, we spoke on the phone."

 

Zayn acknowledged his words with a rigid nod and a noise of dawning realization that got stuck in his throat. He was a fucking idiot. "Who is-?" he started, gesturing behind him.

 

"The pizza boy," Harry supplied quickly. "Guess he got the wrong door."

 

"We had sex with the pizza boy."

 

"Yes."

 

"He was wearing a uniform that said Paul's Pizza, and he brought _a fucking pizza_ with him, and we thought he was an escort. Just because his name was Niall."

 

"It really was quite a coincidence," Harry nodded, carefully.

 

"Can't say to have heard of anything like this before," Niall, the six foot five Niall, agreed. His voice was sympathetic and sexy and Zayn wanted to cry. He tried in vain to tie his robe until he remembered the belt was still somewhere in Harry's bedroom and instead settled to gathering it close to his body, studiously avoiding Harry's anxious eyes. He was angry, mostly at himself but fighting not to inflict it on others.

 

"...Bressie? What're you doing here?" Niall, the shorter-than-Zayn Niall, had finally dragged his arse out the bedroom and into the foyer, wearing almost all his clothes. "Shit, man, haven't seen you in ages!"

 

Giant Niall, who really ought to have the fucking decency to go by 'Bressie' to avoid poor horny people from mistaking men half his size for him, had his mouth hanging open in recognition spread his arms, laughing. "Nialler! Fecking hell! C'mere, my little Mullingar man!"

 

The Nialls embraced joyously, yelling all over each other, while Harry approached Zayn and slung an arm around his shoulders in wordless support.

 

"So. You guys know each other?" Zayn spoke up, suddenly exhausted at all the noise and lack of space in their cramped foyer.

 

"Grew up in the same town," Bressie grinned, white teeth flashing. He was pale but had that rugged, outdoorsy vibe Zayn associated with misty heaths, rocky shores, and wooded hillsides. (He might or might not have a collection of Nora Roberts novels stashed in a secure little box under his bed, safe from Harry's disrespectful spider hands.)

 

"Didn't know you lived in London these days. You friends with these lads?"

 

Niall peered at all of their faces with new enthusiasm as if his day just kept getting better, blond hair in a sweaty disarray that quite suited him. Glad somebody's is, Zayn thought, not unkindly. He was growing increasingly aware of exactly disgusting a state his body was.

 

"No, I'm- well, the truth is I'm doing some escorting these days. In between jobs sort of thing." Bressie scratched the back of his neck but he was still grinning so he couldn't have been too embarrassed about it.

 

"Escorting like-," Niall was obviously fumbling for a neutral word, "having sex? For money? Whadda 'bout rugby?"

 

Zayn's head was momentarily clouded with startlingly vivid images of sweaty jerseys clinging to torsos and big men wrestling each other in wet grass. "Listen, 'm gonna hop in the shower for a bit. You guys sit down and catch up- yeah." He shuffled free of Harry's clasp and down the hallway, relieved to be able to shut the situation outside the bathroom door. He took his time washing up, allowing his mind to wander and sort things out, until he felt at peace and reconciled with things having not gone quite his way.

 

When Zayn returned from his shower, thoroughly clean and refreshed, the three of them were gathered around the kitchen table, each with a slice of pizza and a beer in hand, engaged in a lively conversation that fizzled to an abrupt end at Zayn's arrival. "Pizza?" Harry offered with a gentle, conciliatory smile that drooped on one end as a signal of how much he dreaded Zayn being angry with him. What Zayn had done to earn such devotion and care, he could not begin to fathom. They'd met when Harry had answered his Gumtree ad and moved in his flat after Zayn's long-term boyfriend Liam moved out. Harry too had been faced with a similar struggle of finding his footing after a major personal upheaval - a loss of entire circle of friends due to an involvement with a married man - and they'd latched onto each other with a fervour bordering on unhealthy despite the vast discrepancies in their personalities and preferences. They would never satisfy each other fully in bed, as much as they desired to, but it was too late to go their separate ways now that they'd grown into each other at their scars, like conjoined trees.

 

"Yeah, alright, gimme." Zayn sat gingerly on the last available chair between Harry and Bressie. "You sure you're not gonna lose your job over this?" he asked Niall, who'd gotten up to get him a beer from the fridge. "Not delivering the pizza, I mean."

 

"Nah, Paul owes me dad. He wouldn't sack me."

 

"Hey, even if he does sack you, you can always follow in my footsteps. Seems like you got two satisfied customers already. Who even needs me now?"

 

Bressie looked straight at Zayn when he spoke his last words, a questioning glint in his eyes, and Zayn perked up in rapt attention. "Nah, I feel like there's definitely room for more Nialls in me- I mean, in _here_ -"

 

The rest was drowned out by raucous laughter first from Harry and the Nialls, but Zayn didn't mind so much since those were definitely Bressie's bare toes rubbing against his ankle, fuck yeah.

 

_3 months later_

 

They were sprawled in front of the telly in various positions watching The Great British Bake-Off - Zayn, Harry, Niall, and Bressie - when it occurred to Zayn that it had been weeks upon weeks since they had first phoned for an escort and he hadn't gone out to pull even once since that day. He'd had sex with Niall and Harry almost every day and with Bressie a glorious four times (once in his bed, once against the glass door of the balcony, once in the shower, and once against the kitchen counter in nothing but an apron, not that he was keeping track or anything). He didn't connect with Niall or Bressie quite the same way he did with Harry - and he considered it unlikely that he ever would - but he had reached a level of previously unthinkable comfort with both and there'd been zero issues with jealousy or inconvenient feelings in general despite their closeness, and that was quite something that.

 

"Hey, Z. Fancy a ride on the couch, haven't fucked here yet, have we?" a raspy voice murmured in his ear. "Don' think we're ever gonna be as interested in this show as those two, eh?"

 

Zayn nodded happily and sighed breathlessly when Bressie's arms wound around his waist and lifted him from where he was slouched against the cushions to straddle Bressie's thighs instead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want someone to write me Bressie/Zayn :(


End file.
